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Kedar Gadgil (KAG)
1,752 followers -
Startup Strategist. Thinking Rationalist. Die-Hard Optimist. Animal Lover. Avid Golfer. Family Man.
Startup Strategist. Thinking Rationalist. Die-Hard Optimist. Animal Lover. Avid Golfer. Family Man.

1,752 followers
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Musk is not Tony Stark.
He is Norman Osborn.

#StolenFromDaNet #GreenGoblinNotIronMan
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At this point, it seems DT is just daring the Americans and upping the dare with every word and action he indulges in. American politics has indeed become like reality TV, except that it is way more real than that, if you know what I mean.

I just hope whoever is in-charge of the nuclear codes has somehow put a CAPTCHA of some smart questions like “What is the square root of 36?”, “Spell COFFEE”, or “Who is the Prime Minster of Ireland?” before he can actually execute his command to launch.
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Over the past year or so, I have realised how novelists create the kind of air of homeliness and old-fashioned industriousness in a nice, cosy, family home that gives off a feeling of some lost era, while raising doubts in the mind of the reader as to how much of it was actually real and how much, just an imagined nostalgia.

So, to save her time, here's how our life would look if it were written as a chapter in Kymaia's autobiography:

Back in 2018, Mamma and Baba had this little startup called "Tasha & Girl" where they made jams. While there was a factory on lease on-and-off when we needed to commercially produce the bottles, I remember some rainy Sundays when Mamma would cook something experimental and the whole kitchen would become a hub of activity, with cleaning, peeling, pulping, and cooking fruit, sugar syrup being prepared at one end, and glass bottles being cleaned to a shine, just waiting to be crammed with the delicious, smooth, sweet jam. The whole house would be filled with the saccharine aroma of fruit cooking. Either Mamma would sing "Que Sera Sera" or Baba would play a song like "Girls Like You" by Maroon 5 on the borrowed Alexa (someone gifted one to Ajoba-Aji and they didn't know how to operate it, so it was left at our place for a few days), and we would all dance while the cook happened at one end. I even had this multicoloured plastic hula-hoop that needed some assembly and was my second favourite toy (after the apron and chef's toque Mamma got specially made for me).

When the jam was ready and poured into the bottles, there was a long wait when it had to set, before we could open the bottles, and as Mamma checked on the taste, texture, sweetness, acidity, and firmness, all I would think of is getting my fingers into that gooey sweetness and running around with a mouthful of jam, while Baba chased me, telling me in a stern voice not to touch the furniture with my sticky fingers!

Those were some of my happiest memories of childhood. While we weren't very well-off, and Baba was forever borrowing money to make ends meet, given that the startup wasn't bringing anything home, we never lacked for happiness, love, or the joy of togetherness.

When I think back to those time, I can still smell the fresh Alphonso mangoes Baba had brought back from Dapoli, carefully cleaned and pulped by Mamma cooking in a huge Teflon-coated pot over the gas. I can still hear the music. I can still feel the rhythm. The rhythm of my childhood spent in the suburbs of Pune, at the foothills of the Shivajian fort of Sinhgad, with mango orchards in our backyard, and the sounds of birds that would suddenly rise to a crescendo as soon as the rains stopped and the sky cleared, with the rainbow appearing like clockwork over the horizon, framing the TV tower antenna on Sinhgad amidst the green Sahyadri ranges that extended as far as the eye could see.

And then, I turned 4.

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When I watched #HimaDas trail at the 300m mark, there was a sense of familiarity to it, like watching PT Usha or Shiny Abraham when we grew up, all trying valiantly and losing. I just assumed she'd not be able to make up the deficit. I just assumed she'd miss the bronze by a hundredth of a second. I just assumed she'd beat her personal best and perhaps even break the national record, but would come 4th. I just assumed she'd be hailed as a hero for her courageous loss.

I assumed that since we don’t get proper training or nutrition, don’t have access to international coaches or exposure to highly competitive events, this is the best we can expect. Like all Indians from my generation, I assumed that’s the best we can do, given the resources, which provide a comfortable justification (excuse) for losing.

I assumed wrong.

That’s because I forgot she's not from my generation. She's from the #NewIndia. She does not care for 4th place. She does not care whether she has rice or protein in her diet. She does not care for international coaches. She does not care about others in adjacent lanes from more developed countries with stronger muscles, better diets, and more scientific coaching techhniques. She just wants to run. Hard. And she does not care to be an also-ran. She does not want the glory of a valiant but ultimately failed attempt. She does not think losing while trying hard is a foregone conclusion. I forgot. And for that, I am sorry.

Hima, you go girl! You and your generation can teach us old pessimistic farts the joy of winning, and not just winning, but winning in a crushingly convincing way. I have no doubts that my generation paved the way, broke the barriers, worked hard just to get to 4th place. But nothing, and I mean NOTHING can take away your sheer will and confidence to win. Bravo, the new Indians. Your time is now. Ours is gone. And I am glad.

#Audacity #Gumption #HardWork #Gold
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It would be so cool if #FIFA were to take it upon themselves to fund this rescue. With the #WorldCup of this beautiful game about to come to an exciting close, it would be really fantastic to have them do a "Spare no expense. Let's get our football team out by the closing ceremony and fly them to Russia." thing. Might even repair some of the damage to their reputation, and not to out too fine a point on it, save lives.
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#BeastMode in prep for #Season2. Welcome, #Mangoes!
So, folks, we got nuthin'. Well, we got lots goin' on, but we ain't got no funny one-liners about the world twist-yourself-into-a-spiritual-pretzel day to latch on to. Today's just a regular Tuesday at the #HouseOfGirls and everyone's out working. We're in full-scale #BeastMode for production, and our #Mangoes are going to be on FIRE soon (No, literally. We're gonna cook them).

So this is us "updating" our SM so you don't forget about us, and us telling you that soon we'll have a what the biz calls "Announcement Teaser" about our #NotJam #Season2 being launched.

Does this count as an "update"? Can we go back to work now?
Also, hello #gaiz, how-you-doin'?
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Every time I think we have seen the depths of gullibility of the religious God-fearing people, the world says, #HoldMyAamras. Sigh!
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#FathersDayGift

Kymaia took another step towards becoming an independent, strong, smart woman by demonstrating how she can take a bath all by herself yesterday. From now on, she shall be doing so without any assistance from Baba or Mamma (initially under supervision, but I can soon see her demanding privacy).

What a great gift! Thanks, partner. You brighten up my life.
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Of all the things that make me extremely angry, of all the things that make me violent, of all the things that bring out the beast in me, of all the things that unbalance me to the point of not caring about the consequences of my actions, hurting a child ranks the highest.

It does not matter if it is a Dalit child in India or a Mexican child at the American border. It does not matter if it is a child of rich parents or of landless labourers. It does not matter if it is an Indian child, or a Hindu, or a Muslim, or whatever the faith of the child's parents. It does not matter if the child's parents are saints or terrorists. If you hurt the child, I will turn into a murderous, violent man. I cannot justify my actions. I know it is uncivilised and irrational to lose one's control over oneself and harm another human. I know all of that. But this is how I am. I do not know why it is so. But it is.

There are other things on that list. I am not saying I am so civilised as to have only this one item on the list of things that brings out the worst in me. But it is a short list. And making a child cry is right there. At the top.

#FuckTrump
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